


Down At The Pier

by carolinelamb



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, Cruising, Drugs, Exhibitionism, M/M, PWP, Prostitution, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Rentboys, Violence, prostitute!Tom, rentboy!tom, slut!tom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-01-15 22:32:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1321669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinelamb/pseuds/carolinelamb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeremy and Tom are not actors in this AU. Jeremy is a property developer, Tom is a rentboy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't honestly say if this will be continued or not. I have written a few more chapters, but being me I can't help getting all creepy dysfunctional and unrealistically operatic. Also, this is unbetaed. Feel free to point out embarrassing grammatical errors. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and please heed the warnings!

He was one of the older guys here, and usually fairly popular. 

Within five minutes of leisurely strolling up the pier, he had already one boy, a pretty, if somewhat chubby latino whistling at him, rubbing himself through his jeans. When he didn't look away, but leaned at the railing, the boy, encouraged, pulled his pants down to show off a rounded, fleshy bubble butt and pushed it in the air.

Jeremy started towards him, but then another, huge black guy passed in front of him, and pulled the other's pants down completely. The boy went with it, turning away from Jeremy instantly and Jeremy in no mood to get involved into a fight just walked past them and further out, where there were groups of young boys goofing around, some of them sitting on the railing, pretending to let themselves fall backwards, laughing.

He kind of liked latinos. He liked that light brown skin, the dark, large eyes, the pretty smooth butts. The young latino boys always had a special quality he thought; so young, so wild, and so … happy. Always smiling, and pretty in a girly way. 

Three black guys were telling each other excitedly stories about some other guy they've all met, but none of them seemed to be interested in Jeremy. He inhaled the rotten garbage and the dank, humid smell of the ocean, then rummaged for his phone, scrolling through Grindr. Maybe someone passable was looking for a top in the vicinity. 

He looked at Jim, who apparently was a few blocks down, who liked to suck cock and was "strawberry blond", at "Mike", a half-vietnamese, half-irish boy, fairly young, who stared at him with heavily lidded eyes and finally decided to contact Chris, a handsome bi-guy, Australian, (happily married as he said) and eager to get fucked or to fuck. A true versatile he said. He was quite tall, but "no worries, mate" as he wrote, "I like short guys too."

Jeremy snorted, then clicked on the pic, when he saw a movement from the corner of his eye, a couple fucking, not even two metres away from him. The top was stocky, muscular, but had also a big belly and was wearing a tight black t-shirt. As he was fucking his bottom-boy, his ass was jiggling. It was too dark to see a glimpse of cock, so Jeremy edged a bit closer.

If the bottom was hot, he'd pull it out and jerk himself off, he decided, then wait for half an hour and then hit on the Aussie guy.

The bottom boy was stark white, like milk. Not his type at all, but Jeremy kind of liked the way he moved his legs and arched his back, like a full-blooded horse, in a nervous, restless way. From his vantage point Jeremy could only see the lightly haired thighs, the curve of a pale buttock. As he moved closer he heard someone chatting into a mobile phone and irritated he looked around before he realised it was that boy himself: he was on his phone talking to someone else while he was getting fucked. The nerve.

Jeremy snorted out a laugh and the bottom boy turned around, phone pressed against his ear to look at him. First he thought, the boy was going to tell him to fuck off, but then after a short while he winked at him.

He was pretty, Jeremy gave him that. Big blue eyes, blond curls, red little mouth, looked like a china doll. He pushed back against his top and seemed to clench in regular intervals, because the guy moaned appreciatively. 

His cock was kind of limp though, flopping against the inside of his milky thighs.

The guy behind him moaned and grunted. As he was getting faster, his thrusts harder the boy held on to the railing but still didn't end his phone conversation.

Jeremy caught glimpses of "And then she said …", "And I said …" and "Seriously, bitch?" 

When Jeremy started laughing at the absurdity, the bottom boy winked at him, and covering the mobile phone with his hand, mouthed, "Wanna go next?"

 _Sure, why not?_ Jeremy signalled back, waiting until the top would finish, which he did after another thirty seconds. He patted the bottom boy on the shoulder, pulled his pants up and walked away.

The bottom boy didn't even clean himself up, just presented his dilated and reddened asshole to Jeremy, who inspected it only superficially. The only thing that turned him off was too much shit, but that guy was fairly clean. His thighs were of course sticky, but with come and lube. 

Jeremy looked around, checking if there was something else, something _better_ , but either the boys were fucking (or being fucked), or they were blowing someone, or they were just standing around chatting. No one was looking at him, so he shrugged, gripping the hips.

"Oh, by the way," the bottom told him, "it's twenty dollars for a fuck, if that's okay for you?"

Jeremy had not been prepared to pay, but he was kind of already almost inside him. 

In for a penny, in for a pound, as they said, and he pulled out his wallet and pushed a twenty dollar bill into the boy's hand.

"Thanks!" the boy continued to chat with whoever. Jeremy was tempted to tell him to hang up, but then decided he didn't really care and pulled his cock out of his pants. He spit onto it, then wet it, slicked it to hardness, and pushed into that white, perky bottom.

When he pushed in, whitish fluid, a mix of lube and come squelched out around it. Jeremy was a little dismayed but then pushed in harder. At least this one wouldn't break. The boy pushed back dutifully, and Jeremy gripped him harder, then slid his hand under his faded, grey t-shirt and pinched a small nipple, rubbed it until it was stiff. With his other hand he gripped the boy's slender cock, 

The boy squirmed. "It's okay," he said, holding his hand over the phone "I don't actually like that."

The boy squirmed some more, trying to get away from his hand.

Jeremy got a bit annoyed, and suddenly bit down on the boy's neck. "I'm gonna jerk you off, so hold still, dammit," he said, and the boy stopped squirming.

Jeremy ignored him and within a minute the boy was hard. And moaning. 

Oh.

Not liking it, what the fuck. He seemed to love it.

A shudder went through that rail-thin body. His long spine was kind of pretty. Jeremy pressed himself onto it. The skin was warm and tasted nice, somehow of toasted almonds. (Or maybe he was just hungry.)

The boy let out another deep moan.

"I gotta go," he breathed into the phone, "Talk to you … later … "

He slipped the phone into his pocket taking hold of the railing with both hands and fucked himself on Jeremy's cock.

"O, you know how to play," he fake-moaned, "Such a nice big dick, come on, fuck me with it, fuck the shit out of me."

Jeremy dearly wished bottom boy would have just continued talking on the phone and gritted his teeth. The boy's ass was not as tight as he liked it and he found it difficult to come. The incessant chattering was also distracting.

"Come on, tear me apart! Yeah, fuck the shit out of me, give it to me!"

_For fuck's sake ..._

He pulled the boy's head back, and pressed himself into him, pressing his chest onto the boys long, thin back who let out a surprised and pained moan.

"You're a rough one, huh?" he whispered, "I quite like—" but Jeremy had enough and he simply clamped his hand over the boy's mouth, then holding on to that cock, pushed his cock in really fast and hard, and every time he did, the boy jumped a little and shivered. He bit savagely into the boy's neck, like a dog claiming his bitch.

The boy shrieked against the sweaty palm of his hand, shuddering, overacting like a diva. Maybe he was hoping for a tip.

Jeremy continued to fuck for a few more minutes, and conjuring up some porn images of golden, brown skin and black hair to get himself going, when the boy suddenly shuddered and tensed around him, and his hand holding the boy's cock was full and slimy with warm come. 

Jeremy was faintly surprised: he had sounded so _fake_ … but obviously he _did_ like it. He couldn't help but feeling flattered. He'd get a good tip. That act was oscar-worthy.

The boy had gone limp in his arms, now desperately pleading with him to come. Must be a sensitive one. Jeremy still took one or two moments longer, and finally shot his load into the boy's loose, soft ass, biting down onto his white neck again, growling and grunting like a pig.

He stepped back, rummaging in his pockets for a tissue. 

"That was awesome," he mumbled insincerely and after a moment gave the boy another twenty dollar bill. He found an old used tissue and wiped his cock before tucking it back in, then zipped himself up and turned to leave, leaving the boy more or less hanging on the railing, with his pants around the ankles.

Already two tall guys in hoodies were approaching him, petting his bare, white ass.

Jeremy hurried away, feeling slightly disgusted with himself, just the way he felt when he had over-eaten junk-food. He just wanted to get home, take a shower and slip into his warm bed, maybe watch a DVD, check his Facebook and then sleep.


	2. We'll meet again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter. This fic is basically a relaxation therapy while I work myself out of my writers block. No betas—please don't hesitate telling me if there are any mistakes!
> 
> * * *

**One year later**

 

Kym pushed him into his ribs. 

"Look!"

Jeremy didn't recognize the lanky boy who was waving at him from the other side of the street, grinning like an idiot. He shrugged and continued on his way, dragging Kym and their mountains of shopping bags with him. 

"Come on, we're in a hurry," he grumbled, but then suddenly that boy leaped into the traffic, ran across the street and was suddenly standing in front of him, nearly bumping into Kym.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. He was young and had a very pretty face, but his blond curly hair reeked of cheap product and needed a wash. The entire boy needed a wash. They both stepped a bit back, hit by a wave of unwashed, stale body odor, Jeremy frantically searching his memory. Did he fuck this boy? Did he score drugs off him? His gaze went over the unfamiliar features, the wide blue eyes, the thin lips, the high cheekbones. He was undeniably pretty, if not Jeremy's taste at all. A faint memory began to nudge him in the back of the head and he narrowed his eyes. It felt a lot like a headache coming on.

"You know you never told me your name!" the boy said, and although Jeremy wanted nothing more than to push him out of the way, he just stood and stared. 

"I'm Tom," the boy said with an affected bow and tilted head, nodding a few times towards Kym and bestowing another ridiculous grin at her, and she stepped further back, clutching her bags to her chest.

"Do you know him?" 

"Weeell, …" said Tom, sucked his breath in through bared teeth and smiled again, as if being particularly _discreet_ and in that moment it all fell into place! 

The bottom boy from St. Christopher pier who had been talking into his phone while being fucked!

Jeremy jaw dropped nearly to the floor. 

_What the fuck?_

To talk to him in the open street, in broad day light. Kym could be his girl friend, fiancée, wife … for all bottom boy knew.

Shaking his head, Jeremy decided quickly, dropped his shopping bags despite Kym's shrieked protest and pulled out his wallet.

"Look, buddy," he said in a friendly but firm voice, "I think you're mistaking me with someone, 'kay?" Turning a bit away, so Kym couldn't see, he pushed a fifty-dollar bill into bony, clammy fingers, then hurriedly took up the shopping bags. "Have a nice day!"

"Oh … OH!" Tom said, blinking at him with large, brimming eyes.

There was a strange expression in these eyes, and Jeremy frowned, because this whole encounter was … fucking surreal. Even in place as big as New York, he'd run into fuck buddies, but they would just ignore each other, especially if one of them was in company, and _especially_ in female company. Bottom boy's—Tom's—insistence to talk to him, didn't make any sense to him, and he asked himself if maybe that boy was a little crazy.

"Oh now I think, you're mistaking me!" Bottom boy angrily pushed the bill into one of Kym's shopping bags. Unfortunately it landed on the concrete, and Tom bent down and stuffed it once more into a bag, too, all the while sniffing. 

"Treating me like dirt, I never did anything to you, you could just treat me like a fucking human being," he was sniffing under his breath, and after a last _hurt_ look at Jeremy he stalked off, his hips swaying like no business, one hand extended.

As Jeremy turned around to pick up the bags, he was met with Kym's disapproving stare.

"You know, " she said, "I have no idea about the guys you fuck, but you could have been a _little_ nicer."

Jeremy felt like being hit by a baseball bat. Repeatedly.

"What the fuck?" he finally asked. 

"You know what I mean. You fucked him, okay?" she said angrily, "Contrary to what you think, I'm not an idiot. You could be, you know, decent to him. Treating him like a homeless bum was pretty shitty. I was _that_ girl; I went to bed with a guy on a first date, and just because of that he thought he could treat me like shit. I know how he feels right now." 

She pointed her head into the direction, where bottom boy had stalked off.

"Jesus, fuck!" Jeremy threw his hands up in the air, hitting himself with the shopping bags. He really didn't have the nerve to explain to his sister that he had just fucked some random bottom in the dark, on a bridge or pier or whatever, and that the whole encounter had been anonymous, which was the entire fucking point to Jeremy about cruising. He surely didn't go cruising, wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses and all to have to be "nice" to the guys afterward. If he wanted to be "nice" to guys he'd date them.

Also, he had _paid_ that bottom. 

He took Kym's arm, meaning to move her, but she refused to budge, and instead kept looking at him. 

"Don't be that guy," she simply said.

The bottom boy in the meantime had not continued walking away. Instead, he had stopped, flapped his wrist and pressed his hand onto his forehead, like a fucking queen. 

_Jesus!_ Jeremy rolled his eyes. Kym crossed her arms in front over her chest, and gave him the glare of death.

He looked back at bottom boy, who did not move. Instead a theatrical shudder ran through his body, and Jeremy realized that he was _crying_. 

_Shit, I fucking hate my life!_

Jeremy cursed, then walked up to bottom boy … _Tom_.

From up close he saw, that Tom was fiddling with something he had pulled out from the torn back pocket of his faux leather jacket, a pair of sun glasses, with one glass being badly scratched. With another operatic gesture Tom pushed them onto his face.

"Hey …" Jeremy said lamely.

Tom sniffed again, and wiped his nose onto his sleeve. 

Jeremy grimaced. 

"Are you all right?" he asked, after thinking for too long about the right thing to say. Nothing came to mind.

"Am. I. Alright?" Tom asked incredulously, punctuating every word, lengthening every vowel to an ridiculous extent and immediately Jeremy had to withstand the urge to punch him in the face.

It was this whole effeminate, drama act, the exaggerated gestures, like a bad rendition of La Cage Aux Follies or whatnot. He just didn't get it. He had never liked those queens. Some men found them appealing, he knew, but not him. He couldn't deal with them. On the contrary they aggravated him.

"I don't know," Tom continued, not having picked up on Jeremy's discomfort. "I just had a really bad day, you know? I had a shit day. And then I saw you, and I was just … so glad to see you! I … you know, I actually thought a lot about you in the past months, and we really connected back then, that night, it was great, and I know you felt something too, I have such an antenna for that, you know, and I'm such a fucking idiot, always falling for the wrong guys, but well, what could I do, I just did, didn't I, and when I saw you there, I was just like 'wow'! Something good happens to me today! Finally!' and then you just treat me like a fucking dish rag, like …" he ran out of things to say (thank god), and exhaled a few times, noisily, then sobbed. 

Jeremy felt his brain slowly exploding. There were so many things wrong with Tom's tirade, his brain couldn't literally decide on what to gawk in horror.

First of all: _connected?!_ What the fuck? Bottom boy had been on the phone while being fucked! 

And wait, what, Jeremy had _felt something too_? What madness was this?

What was that boy on? Of course it was likely that he was just out of his mind.

And wait what, _falling for the wrong guys_? The word "falling" looped endlessly in Jeremy's brain, and despite him blinking that word just didn't go away, but instead magnified and echoed, and became bigger and bigger, until it rang like a fucking church bell.

He was obviously trapped in a night mare. 

Also. What the fuck?

He just needed to get away from here. Plan A: Dignified retreat. 

He turned around, ready to just slowly back away from this.

_I need a drink._

Kym was standing where he had left her, surrounded by gaudy colored shopping bags, her arms still crossed in front of her chest, and with a grim warrior look on her face. 

Obviously slowly backing off from crazy guy wasn't really an option.

He turned to bot—Tom again.

"Okay," he said to win some time. He inhaled and exhaled, just to try get some air into his brain cells, trying to come up with something to say.

"Whoa," he finally said.

Tom stood ramrod straight, his hip pushed out with one hand on his side. His curls fell into his face, and he tossed them back with an exaggerated movement of his head.

"It's alright," he finally sighed so loud, even Kym standing meters away from them, could hear every word. "I know guys like you can't talk about their feelings. You always expect the others to do the talking, and the feeling, and. The _Giving_."

Jeremy slowly shook his head, feeling shock set in. It was like listening to an alien.

"Look," he said, when he thought he had gathered himself a bit. "If I should have hurt your feelings … I'm truly sorry for that. _But._ I don't think that whole thing was what you thought it was."

As he was saying that, Tom's face began to crumble and Jeremy instantly regretted it. Suddenly he felt unreasonably cruel. Obviously that boy wasn't the brightest light in the shed, and seemed to be living in a fantasy world. Maybe he was manic-depressive or something. It would explain … a lot.

Jeremy looked Tom over, the worn-out, dirty outfit, the blueish, cold fingers. The left sleeve was torn at the shoulder seams and Tom's boots had seen better days too; they had been mended with duct tape. He looked back into that face, and thought, that really, he had actually a fine face. Beautiful even. Just a little simple-minded.

"I. see." Tom said, punctuating each word with a hand gesture, "Oh … well. I. see."

Could that man say _nothing_ in a normal way? Talk like other people did? And yet, Jeremy just couldn't turn around and leave him there. He felt like an asshole.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He wanted to bring that bit up with having paid for fucking him, just to pull him back into reality, but suddenly felt shabby for it. It had been only twenty bucks (ok, and a generous tip, Jeremy's brain reminded him) after all.

"You know what? Let's … let's get a cup of coffee," he said, before he knew what he was saying. "It's cold, and I'm in a shitty mood 'cause I didn't have time for my coffee in the morning, my sister," and he jerked his head towards Kym, "kind of woke me up and forced me to go shopping with her and I didn't eat _anything_ yet and …"

Tom's facial expression changed within two seconds. Shocked Jeremy blinked, but Tom just leant forward and grabbed his arm. Jeremy had never ever seen anyone change his behavior so quickly. 

"Oh!" Tom exclaimed in his over-the-top manner. "Oh, _of course_! A morning without coffee is just absolutely _horrific_. Oh! Now I understand your behavior! You didn't eat _anything_ , you poor man?"

Then he straightened up again, stood ramrod straight and in an affected manner asked: "What is your name?"

"Wha-?"

"You never told me." 

"Jeremy," he mumbled.

Helplessly Jeremy looked at Kym who already picked up the shopping bags. Tom ran past him and took a bag off her, ignoring her resistance.

"I assure you, I have no intention stealing your Victoria Secret lingerie," Tom said in a sincere tone, "well, unless your brother wants me to!" He laughed at his own, wildly inappropriate joke and Kym shot Jeremy an anxious look. Jeremy only mouthed "Sorry". Reluctantly Kym let go of her bags.

There was a diner around the corner, and Jeremy ushered both, Tom and Kym, in. He caught how Tom eyed a plate of steaming food and licked his lips. 

"What's it gonna be?" 

The waitress looked at Tom, her eyebrows arched at his torn jacket, the grime under his fingernails. 

Tom's eyes darted around, then he smiled. "I'll have … a coffee. Please."

"Just a coffee?"

Tom nodded bravely, looking fully at her. He swallowed audibly, but pretended to clear his throat and looked at Jeremy.

"I'm fucking hungry!" Jeremy said, rubbing his hands together.

Kym drew her eyebrows together. "What? After that huge breakfast you had bef—OUCH!"

She shot him an angry glare, rubbing her shin. Thankfully Tom was distracted, looking after a tray of freshly baked cranberry muffins, one of the waitresses had just pulled out of an oven. The smell filled the entire diner, and Tom's stomach gave a loud growl.

"I hate eating alone," Jeremy announced, "let me shout you that."

"Oh, no thank you," Tom said primly, "I really can't."

_But you can let yourself be fucked for twenty dollars?_

"Let's have the scrambled eggs, the sausages, bacon, … fuck, that omelet looks good," Jeremy said. "Maybe some of the grilled tomatoes, two cheeseburgers with avocado, extra fries with that, the grilled chicken. Oh, and I definitely need muffins. Three muffins."

Kym and the waitress' eyebrows raised even further.

"Someone's hungry!" the waitress said, but she smiled and walked off.

Tom sat, suddenly quiet, with his hands in his lap. He was worrying his lower lip. "You know," he said, "You're very generous, but I cannot possibly …"

Thankfully Kym finally decided to be of any use today.

"Shut up," she said to Tom, "it's just lunch, for fuck's sake."

Tom snapped his mouth shut.

Kym got a call. (Or she pretended to get one, Jeremy suspected, just to get out of here.)

"Ah, well, shit, I have to go!" she said, looking at her phone. 

Jeremy shot her a glare, but she gave them both a wide smile. "Can I leave these with you?" She pointed at the bags. "I'll pick you up later, but I have to meet Nikki now!"

Before Jeremy could utter anything she left, and as if on cue, the food arrived. 

Jeremy forced himself to eat as if he was hungry, observing Tom surreptitiously from under lowered lashes, who was gobbling down his food greedily.

He looked like a hungry cat or a child in a candy store, as if he hadn't seen food for a long time and it did something to Jeremy. He remembered what it was like to be out of luck, and hadn't he been a bit crazy too at that time? He remembered what it was like to merely exist, to lurk around in shopping malls, watching all those people in their shiny cars, and their polished lives, buying stuff in crisp, prettily colored shopping bags, holding large Starbucks cups in their hands while they were laughing and giggling into their phones. Being poor wasn't that romanticized, Oliver Twist idea of going hungry—it was the lonely, hopeless defeated realization of not belonging. 

Whatever it was, this strange pang in his chest, it made him push his food back.

"I'm stuffed!" he groaned. "I think I over-ordered."

"Really?" Tom looked up from his empty plate with enormous eyes. "You hardly ate anything!"

"I dunno!" Jeremy said, leaning back. "Too much! Can you finish this off for me, buddy?"

Tom wasn't that stupid obviously, because he reared back and looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"I'm not a welfare case."

"Hey," Jeremy raised both hands, "Sorry! I just thought, it would be a waste, is all!"

He pushed the plate closer to Tom, and he could see Tom's resolve melt. 

Slowly Tom reached for the plate, then began to eat. Jeremy took a large gulp from his coffee, continuing to watch Tom eat. 

"So, _Tom_ , what are you doing in a place like Modesto?" he asked, eager to bring some sort of more business-like tone into it. To put a distance between them, and maybe communicate Tom in a gentle, painless way, that whatever he imagined, there really was nothing between them.

Tom paused between shoveling food into his mouth. Despite him emptying that plate in an impressive three minutes, he managed to look relatively well-behaved. He did hold his cutlery with his pinkie extended though. Jeremy managed to mask his snort as a cough.

"My mum lives here," Tom said. "We moved to America when she married my stepdad. We lived in Stockton but when she divorced my stepdad, she couldn't afford the place. So we came here and she got a job at the theatre as a secretary."

Tom had suddenly a sullen look on his face. He continued to talk about how hard his mum's life was, and before Tom could tell him all about his childhood or whatever, Jeremy interrupted him quickly.

"So, what are you doing?"

"My … job?" Tom asked.

"Yeah. Well. Your job." 

Jeremy kept a straight face and fiddled with the napkin. _If you have one._

"Oh, I am an actor," Tom said, in a modest tone, with his eyes downcast.

Jeremy had no idea what to ask about that kind of job. He faked being impressed.

"Cool," he finally said. 

Tom took that as an invitation to launch into a monologue. Jeremy tried to listen first, but then the flood of names was too much, and he soon tuned out, watched the passers-by outside, the waitresses serving coffee, families with their children. Now and then, when Tom made a pause, or looked expectantly at him, he nodded sagely.

Finally Tom said something, and he said, "Ye-ah!" but Tom didn't continue in his monologue like before. Instead he looked at him, suddenly with mirth all over his face. He had his tongue between his teeth, and was smiling a grin that stretched his whole face apart.

"What?" Jeremy said, slightly alarmed he had mustard on his face.

"I just told you I had a three-some with Steven Spielberg and Woody Allen, and you just went like … "'u-hu'," Tom laughed. "You didn't listen to a single word I said!" 

Jeremy shifted in his seat. "Yeah, of course I'd believe you! How could Woody Allen or Steven Spielberg resist your ass?"

Tom laughed. He didn't seem to be mad at him. 

"I'm a bad listener," Jeremy said sheepishly. "Been distracted."

To make things somehow better, he let his gaze wander down Tom's chest in a suggestive manner, pretending he had been distracted by sexual thoughts. Tom's entire face lit up, pleased and flattered, as if no one ever in his life had ever looked upon him with desire.

He bit his lip in this girlish manner, that Jeremy started getting used to. Tom wasn't his type, but he was a nice guy, he thought. He was a bit annoying with his whole drama act, but then he genuinely seemed to like Jeremy, seemed to soak up attention.

He seemed lonely.

And somehow that got to him. That look in Tom's big kid eyes. He's not even _that_ young, Jeremy thought, swallowing another sip of his cold coffee. He had already crow's feet under his eyes, dry skin under his cheek bones, lines on the sides of his mouth. His hairline was kind of re-ceding. 

(Seriously that forehead was bigger than the rest of his face.)

Tom's gaze suddenly darkened. He leaned back, then slid out of the seat and sat down beside Jeremy, crumpling at least four shopping bags in that process. He gave him another gaze that was meant to be smoldering and made Jeremy cringe, and put a long, bony hand onto Jeremy's thigh, massaging it. 

"What the fuck?" he hissed, alarmed, looking around.

"No one's looking," Tom assured him, but pulled his hand back. "Wanna have your cock sucked?"

He jerked his head towards the men's room and then winked. 

Jeremy ran a hand through his hair.

"I shouldn't."

"Come on," Tom said in an urgent whisper and winked again. "I'll make it worth your while."

It was a bad idea. It was the craziest idea of this already crazy day. There was no doubt about it, no matter from what angle he looked at it, but a pretty boy was offering to get him off and his cock was already twitching. He shifted, his jeans suddenly uncomfortable. Okay, yeah, so Tom was a bit crazy, but right now he seemed to be okay. Not too crazy. Surely he was okay now. And maybe a fuck would do him good. Relax him a bit. 

"A quick one," he finally relented. Tom gave him another grin, then immediately slid off the seat and went to the men's room.

Jeremy emptied that last dreg of his coffee, grimaced and then followed.

 _Of course_ the light in the men's room was flickering. The stalls looked empty, and he walked past them, pushing them open. Foreseeably Tom was in the last one. He pulled Jeremy inside, then sank onto his knees, opening the belt buckle. Jeremy braced himself against the walls.

Tom stroked and caressed his cock, then licked it, pink tongue flattened against the underside, the tip tracing the vein.

"Mmh, yummy, big boy!" he said in a silly porn star way, then sucked the glans and Jeremy shuddered.

While deep-throating Jeremy's cock like a pro ("He _is_ a fucking pro!" Jeremy reminded himself), Tom unbuttoned his shirt and revealed a thin but pretty chest with sparse hair. He began to play with his own nipples, rub and pinch them, now and then making eye-contact with Jeremy, to gauge his reaction, smiling around the thick cock in his mouth.

Then he began to move faster, taking him even deeper, and Jeremy found himself thrusting into that wet, hot mouth. Tom was moaning loudly. 

Suddenly the outer door opened, and they both fell silent, Jeremy pressing a hand onto his own mouth to keep from any sounds emerging. Tom stilled his movement for a while, but then a sort of devious expression appeared on his face and he began to tongue his slit and to continue sucking him, first slowly and very, very quiet. 

Jeremy reached down with his other hand, trying to pull him off, but Tom would not have it, and held his wrist. He began to suck harder, his wicked tongue lapping at the shaft, then push him inside his throat, and it was so fucking good, so tight and hot and Tom was looking at him throughout the entire time, his eyes dark in that pale face, thin, red lips around his cock. 

They both listened to a man walking to one of the pissoirs, farting loudly and then sighing when he started pissing. Jeremy held his breath. After a few moments the man outside began to whistle, then he heard the flush and tap running. 

Tom used the loud noise of the fan to open his own trousers and pull out his own (pink and pretty) cock, pulling it in time to Jeremy's thrusts. He sped up, and Jeremy could not think any longer, only feel himself being pulled towards his orgasm by Tom's merciless rhythm, his relentless sucking. He felt himself twitching. Tom seemed to have felt it, because he closed his eyes, and he let go of Jeremy's wrist and grabbed his hip, pushing underneath his shirt, laying his warm hand onto his hips, guiding his movements.

When the man finally left the toilet, Jeremy exhaled in relief. Tom doubled his efforts, moving faster, and taking him deeper while also sucking even harder than Jeremy thought possible, nearly painful. 

Jeremy felt himself nearing the end and he made a half-hearted attempt to pull away. Tom let his cock slide out of his mouth, a thread of spit connecting it with his lips.

"Give it to me," he said, "I want to swallow it down, all of it, please." Then as if to emphasize his point, he greedily swallowed it again, pushed it so far back, Jeremy could feel the heat and tightness of Tom's throat, who moaned loudly, shamelessly now, looking up in an almost pleading manner. 

Jeremy exhaled a silent "Fuck!" and came, thrusting into Tom's whore mouth, grabbing his hair and pushing him closer, and filling him with his load, shot for shot. 

Like a cat, Tom began to swipe his tongue along his shaft, as if he wanted to taste all of Jeremy's cock, wanted to not let escape a single drop, even squeezed lightly his glans and licked up that little milky drop that welled up. 

"Mmmh," he said, and sat back, licking his lips.

Breathlessly and dazed Jeremy stared down at Tom, who tucked him back into his trousers and even closed that belt buckle. 

Slightly confused he asked, "What about you?"

"Hm?" Tom slowly straightened up, buttoning his shirt. "Oh, that was for you. Don't worry about me." 

Jeremy saw numerous dried discolored stains on the shirt front, the missing buttons and a bit of too thin, gaunt chest and looked away, somehow embarrassed. He felt as if he was seeing something he shouldn't. 

He was too close.

Tom flashed him his weird toothy smile, eyes wide open, the lashes dark and moist.

"'Kay," he mumbled, then he fished in his pocket for a few bills only to find a wad of five 100 dollar bills he had pocketed today earlier. He thought of tucking it back, but realized with a sinking feeling in his gut that Tom had already seen it. Even only 100 dollars for a blow job was insane, he told himself. 

No way he was going to give him the entire wad. 

The moment stretched into an awkward silence, where he weighed the money in his hand, noticing how he had begun to sweat lightly.

"Let me get back to the table," Tom finally said, laying a hand on shoulder and smiling. His smile would have been perfect were it not for the slightly discolored teeth and the missing one in the left corner. 

He pushed the wad into Tom's hand, closed his fingers around it.

"Okay, please don't be offended … but please take it. I want you too, okay?" he lied. He felt fucking awful to get rid of 500$ for a blow job in a diner's toilet, and the frugal scrooge in him, that counted every cent cried out in frustration but done was done, and anyway, that blow job had totally been worth it. 

And Tom was smiling at him, with large brimming eyes.

 _Please, please don't cry._ Jeremy silently begged.

"You're a sweet, sweet man," Tom announced and took a deep breath to start a monologue but Jeremy had enough.

"'Kay man, I gotta get out, Kym's stuff's are out there, and if someone steals them or what, she'll have my head, ok?"

He nearly bolted, but remembered to briefly run cold water over his hands, wiped them on his jeans and left the toilet. The door creaked, and the two waitresses both gave him suspicious looks. 

Thankfully the bags were still stowed under the table, the coffee cup had been re-filled. Obviously no-one wanted Mac cosmetics, beige pumps or Victoria Secret panties. 

After a while Jeremy heard the door of the toilet open and Tom's steps nearing the table, then sitting down opposite from him again.

They sat in silence, Jeremy drinking more coffee, and thinking of ordering more food, when Tom opened his mouth.

"What a weird day," he said softly as if to himself, shaking his head, but was clearly expecting Jeremy to say something.

"How so?" he dutifully supplied, feigning interest.

"I just had a bit of a fall out with a friend, Chris … he's a friend of mine, or kind of, friend, you know."

Jeremy didn't know, but nonetheless nodded mechanically. Would this guy never leave?

"So we're basically really good friends, he's from Australia and he's famous, had a few tv shows, do you know … _Home And Away_?"

Jeremy shook his head, and Tom began to explain the series and its main characters to him. At some point he seemed to have started on the plot arcs and complex underlying issues for every minor character too. Jeremy prayed for a quick death. 

"... but it's tough in Hollywood, so he met someone and moved to New York …"

Jeremy took another sip of coffee. 

"… and then she said …"

Tom launched into a somewhat shrieking imitation of a female voice with a heavy spanish accent, shaking his head in disapproval. Jeremy watched in a strange numbed fascination as the golden curls were trembling with his righteous anger. 

" … and then I _told_ him …"

Jeremy looked at Tom's moving mouth and blinked back into consciousness when Tom's mouth closed again. A quick glance at the clock on the wall told him, Tom had been talking for full fifteen minutes in a row.

"Wow," he said randomly, "that's tough." 

Tom's eyes widened. "I … I _know_. Chris is such an asshole sometimes!"

"No one should treat you like that," Jeremy declared firmly, pointing his finger at Tom like a gun, and praying to the gods of the universe, that he had judged Tom's whiny voice correctly.

Tom swallowed, visibly moved, and nodded. "Thank you," he breathed, "that means an awful lot to me."

Jeremy slowly nodded again, not sure what to say next. Tom was looking expectantly at him, and Jeremy got a little anxious. He wished Tom would just leave, but from the look of Tom's face he didn't intend to. 

Another silence descended upon them, and Jeremy started to curse Kym. When he fetched his phone from his back pocket to call her, the door swung open and she came in, with another five shopping bags, her phone pressed onto her ear.

"It's the birthday and engagement party of our sister," Jeremy said, apologetically, although he had no idea why he should be apologetic towards Tom. He pulled on his jacket, expecting to leave, but Kym, still talking on the phone, sat down beside Jeremy, grabbed his coffee and emptied it, then pulled the menu over.

Jeremy grimaced and mouthed jokingly, imitating a duck, and Tom laughed dutifully. Kym looked up, then gave Jeremy the middle finger before she focused on her call again. All she said was, "Mm-hm," every few seconds. They couldn't hear what the person on the other end was saying, but she was clearly agitated.

Kym pointed at something on the menu, then pushed Jeremy, and he called the waiter over, ordered her blueberry pan cakes, then ordered a second plate. 

Somehow the moment to get rid of Tom had passed.

Just as the waitress had turned around, Kym finished her call "Ok, I'll call you in ten, gotta go now," then threw her head back and covered her eyes with her hand.

"If that's only the fucking engagement party I don't wanna know how the wedding's gonna be!" she said. 

Jeremy made a humming, sympathetic noise, a sound made in the back of his throat he had perfected during his childhood.

Kym was kind of tired and exhausted but wired on coffee at the same time, and it turned out to be a really good match for Tom, who enthusiastically listened to her descriptions of her ordeals at Bergman's. He proceeded to regale her with tales of Bergman's as if he himself was shopping there every day (from the state of his wardrobe quite unlikely), flapping his wrists (both of them), laughing at everything she said, and calling her "darling".

In a way he was glad, because Kym was more or less focused on him, instead directing her antsy energy at him, but he did find it … creepy, that Tom threw himself at Kym.

Finally, after the pancakes had been devoured, the last cup of coffee emptied and the bill paid, they all rose reluctantly. 

"We're going to meet our sister now," Jeremy said with a nervous glance at Kym. "It was really cool to catch up with you."

Kym was on the phone again.

Tom rubbed his hands together. The lost puppy look on his face was back again.

"Yes, it was … very nice," he said in a breathy voice. Then he slapped his forehead with his hand, as if he just remembered something.

"I don't have a phone at the moment," he said, "it doesn't … work. But I could call you, if …"

There was no way to refuse it. He just couldn't. Maybe someone with better nerves than him could just tell him to fuck off, to get lost, but he just couldn't. 

"Okay," he said, fumbling for his phone, then for a ball pen.

Tom had one, even a crumpled piece of paper.

He straightened it out against the window pane of the diner, breathed against the tip of his ball pen.

Jeremy dictated him his mobile number, the one he kept solely for hook-ups.

Tom folded the piece of paper carefully, then pocketed it. He had a strange look on his face.

"Let's catch up soon, okay?" he said, again in his low voice, that Jeremy found confusing. Somehow Tom was kind of like a TV, jumping from one channel to the other. It was disconcerting and to Jeremy it looked as if Tom was living a warped reality, where it was normal to switch your mood from one moment to the other.

"Yeah, was nice," he said, and unnecessarily added, "take care, man."

He abruptly turned around and walked away, knowing Tom was staring after him, with his strange smile on his lips.

It wasn't nice nor realistic but he hoped he wouldn't call.


	3. Another Day In Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a thing for Jeremy and Tom. And doomed relationships. And wrecked people. 
> 
> Just a word here about Tom and his OCC-ness. One of my ideas about people is that we only get to be who we are, not because of some fixed, fated pre-disposition but mostly because of the world we grow up in. 
> 
> If you'd take Tom out of the UK, away from Oxford and Cambridge, away from an upper class upbringing, he too would have been a different guy. What fascinates me is the question, what makes us who we are? I have lots of fun with trying to answer that with playing around with Tom ;)
> 
> * * *

Tom called the next day.

The moment the phone started ringing, he knew. 

In a way Jeremy had expected that call. The way Tom had asked for his number in his eager puppy voice only a zombie apocalypse would have kept him from calling. And even then Tom would have found a way.

Jeremy picked up the phone but then let the call go to voicemail hoping to discourage him. He was relaxing on his couch, browsing through the sports channels and felt lazy and sleepy. He really had no patience now for Tom's high strung affectations.

Instead he put it on speaker mode, turning the volume of Simon Hill down.

His voice mail kicked in, followed by the long beep tone, then he heard someone clearing his voice.

"Hey, this is Tom, you may be able to see this number, but anyway here it is: It's—" He told him the number, repeated it, then repeated it _again_ , enunciating every number. After sixty seconds the voicemail hung up.

Tom called again.

"It's me again. So I got off and I was wondering if you'd like to get together. How crazy is it that we met last time? What are the odds? I didn't really get it when we were in the diner, but afterwards I thought of it, and you know—both of us at the same time in Modesto! After meeting in New York. Amazing! So it would be really nice to meet again. On purpose. We could have some drinks. Do you know some nice bars in Modesto? I can have a look. I think a friend of my a friend of mine owns a bar. Or we can grab a bite to eat. If—"

He got cut off again.

And called again.

"I'm sorry! I'm talking way too much! Just quickly, to say, if you're vegetarian or vegan I know some great places. Or if you're not I know some great places too—"

Cursing Jeremy picked up and nearly yelled into the phone.

 _"What?"_

There went his peaceful evening. Why was he even angry?

"Hey! Hey Jeremy! It's me, Tom!" 

Jeremy could literally _hear_ the other's anxious smile, and it gave him a headache. He forced himself to tamp his anger down.

"Hey," he just said, mellower, then after a pause. "What's up, man?"

"Oh, I am good. Sort of. It's all really complicated, but well, I am trying to sort of put one foot in front of the other and see where it leads me to, so all I can say for now—"

"Ok, sounds good," Jeremy interrupted with clenched teeth, knowing that if he wouldn't he'd had to listen to that aimless ramble for at least ten minutes. "Listen, I'm kind of … busy right now."

"Oh, I caught you in a bad moment! I. Am. So. Sorry!"

"That's okay," Jeremy said unconvincingly. "It's … okay. Just gotta go … any particular reason you called?"

He pretended not to have listened to Tom's rambling voice messages. Jeremy had every intention to discourage him. He didn't want to outright refuse but somehow the idea of meeting Tom again felt uncomfortable.

"I was thinking of your cock," Tom said suddenly.

Against his will Jeremy turned off the TV.

"Okaaaay," he said again. "As I said, I don't have much time …"

"Don't worry," Tom said quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to keep you from your business. Just thought of you. And your marvellous, delicious cock."

Jeremy’s first notion was to reply with a snappy "Ok, man, that’s great and good for you but was there anything else?" and hang up. Then he made the mistake to let Tom’s voice travel deeper and deeper until it reached his cock and his balls.

Silence fell, and Jeremy first said nothing in the hope that Tom would somehow end the conversation, but he didn't. 

He just waited.

"Still there?" he finally ventured.

"Hey," Tom said breathily, and Jeremy rolled his eyes. 

"So, I've got your new phone number and I call you next week, how's that? Let's hook up."

"Yeah, yeah!" Tom gave him his number _again_ , twice, and let him repeat it, and then, just to confirm, repeated the number again. Jeremy was sure he knew that number by heart after listening to Tom re-iterate it.

"It's not really my phone, but I can use it for the next days, so … " Tom trailed off for a moment or was cut off, then his voice came back, closer, as if he was pressing the speaker against his lips or so. "I didn't expect you to pick up, and I'm really glad you did. I thought about last time and thought I must have come across as crazy so … I'd like to meet up again and explain a bit … and maybe blow you."

"Look," Jeremy sat up as it finally dawned on him, what the call was about. "I’m kinda broke at the moment, if you get what I mean. So I can’t—"

"Jeremy," Tom said in an honest tone. "This isn’t about money. I just think we both like fucking. And I think we’re both good at it. That’s all. And I like sucking fat, big cocks as you may have noticed. And you liked that, didn't you."

Jeremy grinned, his cock twitching. "Can't complain." 

Tom chuckled, then let out his strange laugh. "Okay then. Next time I'll deep throat you harder than you ever been deep throated before. You'll scream my name, how does that sound?"

Jeremy swallowed. He couldn't help imagining Tom on his knees, in that filthy toilet, sucking him, looking up at him with these large eyes.

"Riiiiight," he said, and his voice came out hoarser than he wanted to.

Tom apparently heard because he laughed out loudly and giddily, then suddenly turned earnest again, "I like your voice. It's nice."

"Stop saying that stuff, man. My head is already too big for my shoulders!" Jeremy got up from the couch and walked towards the patio glass, watching his reflection in the glass. 

"Okay Tom," he said, deliberately using his name. "I gotta go. I call you next week, okay?"

"Yeah, looking forward to you," Tom said. 

Jeremy hung up, somehow knowing that Tom wouldn't hang up first.

He walked back to the couch, lying down, staring up at the ceiling. He turned up the volume of the TV again, but couldn’t focus any longer. 

After fighting the urge for a while he pulled his shorts down, and jerked off, wiped his spunk into a wad of toilet paper, then stared at the TV for a while.

He wouldn’t call Tom. Despite his seemingly carefree attitude now, Jeremy knew there was something wrong with this guy. Tom was trouble, and he’d always been good in staying away from trouble.

 

**Two weeks later**

"Can you move a bit to the left? … My leg's going to sleep!"

Tom shifted obediently, then continued bouncing on his cock.

"You're flexible," Jeremy remarked, tracing Tom's flexed thighs, glistening with sweat.

"Yoga," Tom panted, pushing down and clenching.

"I should thank your yoga teacher," Jeremy said.

Tom laughed breathlessly, then twisted backwards to give Jeremy a sloppy, open mouthed kiss.

He lifted himself, bracing himself on Jeremy's thighs and began to tease him, just taking the tip of Jeremy's cock, then squeezing, but not taking him deeper. Whenever Jeremy moved up, Tom giggled and moved away.

Finally Jeremy had enough of the teasing and roughly grabbed Tom and pulled him down, holding him flush against his body. Tom shrieked, and Jeremy thought for one moment his ear drums had been pierced and shook his head, dazed.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh, YES!" Tom screamed.

"Shhhht," Jeremy tried to hush him frantically, but then finally sighed and just clamped a hand over Tom's mouth, who convulsed around and shuddered against him. Tentatively Jeremy slid his hand down Tom's chest and found his hand full of come.

Somehow that feeling of power was heady. It was nice. He had made Tom come, and he hadn't even touched his own dick. So far Jeremy had only seen that in porn, so fucking someone who could come without his cock being touched was … mindblowing.

When he moved to pull out of Tom, Tom held him back, "Come in me, please," he whispered.

Jeremy pulled out.

"I wanna come on your back."

"What about my face? Don't you want to come all over my face?"

Actually Jeremy didn't really want to come all over Tom's face, mostly because Tom always had this intense look on his face, whenever they had sex, and sometimes it was overwhelming. It was like a thousand questions and demands and emotions rolled into one single intense look, and Jeremy had no idea what to do with it. 

Or maybe he had: Jeremy felt that Tom wanted to establish an emotional connection or maybe pretend there was one, because of his own theatralic, passionate, diva personality. Nothing could ever just be mundane for Tom. 

"So can I come on your pretty face?" Jeremy grinned at Tom, who immediately slid down onto his knees.

With a smouldering look he gathered some of his come onto his fingers, then licked them. It was meant to excite Jeremy, but he found it profoundly depressing.

He began to jerk himself off, aiming at Tom's face. Tom stuck his tongue out, tilting his head back, letting out breathy little moans and grunts, his hands stroking Jeremy's thighs, then fondling his balls.

When he finally covered Tom's face in come, he closed his eyes, thinking of some random latina chick he had seen on today's news show.

When he opened his eyes again, Tom was still on his knees, whitish spunk all over his face. He leant forward and rubbed himself all over Jeremy's softening cock, while jerking himself off. Without any self-consciousness he lowered himself to the ground, spread his legs and fucked himself with the fingers of his other hand, using some of the cum.

It was a show, a display—staged like everything Tom did, punctuated by overly loud, expressive moans and fuckyeahs but Jeremy had to give it to Tom that he was a dedicated actor. And maybe he was getting used to it.

A flush spread over Tom's face and chest, as he began to fuck himself with four fingers, then he arched a final time and came. The first spray hit his pretty nipples, the second reached his sternum, and a third weak pulse pooled under his cock. 

Exhausted Tom looked at him, and like always Jeremy had the uncomfortable feeling that Tom was expecting something from him, scrutinizing him.

"That was hot," he said lamely, then walked into the bath room to take a shower.

When he got back, Tom was still naked, but sitting on the bed, reaching for him. He had long, graceful arms, like the branches of a willow.

It was always the same, since they had started meeting in the hotels or motels.

"I paid the room until tomorrow," Jeremy said. "Just stay the night and have the breakfast too, ok?"

Like always Tom said, "You shouldn't have …" but at least he didn't look up and bestow him his watery, blue-eyed look of gratitude.

Jeremy pulled out two crisp 200$ notes and put them on the table.

"I thought you were hungry," Tom said, now leaning against the headboard. "We could order something. Get a bite to eat."

"Nah," Jeremy said. "Just tired."

"Then stay here." Tom patted the space beside him on the bed.

"'S alright. I have a meeting in an hour," Jeremy replied, avoiding Tom's gaze. He pretended to check his phone. 

"I see," Tom said.

For a moment Jeremy stood awkwardly in the middle of the hideous hotel room, then took a few steps and kissed Tom. He hated this moment. If he wouldn't kiss him, Tom would be upset. If he did kiss him, he felt like a liar, promising something, that wasn't his to give. 

Every time Tom grinned up at him after a kiss, he felt a little sick.

"I'll better go," he said.

"You still have time," Tom wheedled. His eyes were so large, so pleading. They narrowed in his show of sultriness and Tom began kneading his crotch.

Jeremy stepped back, pocketing his phone.

"No, really, I have to go. Am actually a bit late. Get a bite to eat, okay?"

Tom nodded, looking like a forlorn child. Jeremy wasn't sure why he was disgusted but he knew it was wrong of him. Tom hadn't done anything to him. 

"Next week?" Tom asked hopefully.

"Sure," Jeremy replied, before he left hastily.

He didn't driveaway immediately. Instead he turned on the radio and listened to the sports news for a while, looking at the concrete wall of the parking garage. 

Then with a sigh he called the office.

"Hi Jeremy, what's up?" his PA asked.

"All good. Everything ok in the office? Do I need to come in?"

"Nah, I don't think so, you’ve got a meeting tomorrow in the afternoon, with Vandenberg, but only at four. Kris wanted to talk to you, but he said he's going to call you tonight. No message, but I assume it's about the Holmby development."

"Anything else?"

"I think our new intern broke Outlook," Tim chuckled, "but we should be up and running in an hour or so. Sent you a status update on The Sturges development. I can talk to you tomorrow between 9:30 and 10:00. You don't have anything planned for this slot." 

Jeremy heard the faint clicking of him typing—Tim probably sending e-mails as he was speaking. 

"Great. I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Yup. See ya later," and with that Tim had hung up.

Jeremy put the phone back and started his car, then slowly weaved into the passing stream of cars, saluting an elderly woman who let him in front of her. 

It took him half an hour through the afternoon traffic to get back to Modesto.


	4. Do You Really Want To Hurt Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drug abuse, public sex, exhibitionism, bit of violence—if this triggers you, please don't read further. Robert Downey Jr. and Scarlett Johansson drop by, and Lee Pace does a quick cameo, because I couldn't resist.

In November Kris, his business partner took a plane to Dubai meaning Jeremy had to deal with a lot of stuff himself. He usually oversaw constructions, while Kris did the interior. Work wasn’t that clean cut though, because obviously Kris was also responsible for a lot of aesthetic decisions that didn’t only concern the furniture but also certain architectural elements. Jeremy didn’t dislike that part of the job, but he and Kris had different tastes which made seamless collaboration a bit harder.

Mostly they skyped for almost an hour every night and Kris spammed him with huge folders of pics he had taken. Tiles, antique looking faucets, lots of interior pics of the houses he was invited to, chairs, desks, mirrors. 

For a few weeks Jeremy was constantly exhausted, what with the nightly conference calls, and the daily driving around between developments. At the moment they had three, with Holmby being their main project that guzzled the most money, but was also the one most likely to earn them a huge profit.

While Kris was a bit more generous, Jeremy tended to micromanage. As a young man he had worked on construction sites himself, and somehow he liked being at the site more than being in his office. Kris was also better with people, a born presenter, while Jeremy usually limited himself to look grim.

Fortunately Jeremy only had to fend for himself for one investor meeting, but that meeting took all the energy out of him. Instead of calling Tom, he called a hooker—it was much easier and faster, and Jeremy had no nerve to deal with Tom.

Then, when that meeting was more or less successfully done, the wedding madness with Nicki began to really take off, so in his "free time" he drove Nicki around, or Kym, or Nicky and Kym, or Nicki’s fiancee, Jeff. Nicki had decided, true to herself, four months before her wedding, to change the wedding venue.

It was actually fun to hang out with his siblings, have good-natured arguments and end them in some burger joint, where they would all get drunk together, but at the end of the day he was exhausted, and he had a few drinks, one or two wanks watching some clips on porntube, then fell asleep.

He hooked up with a model from Brazil, then a PR assistant he met at a dinner with friends. 

During that period it didn’t make sense to hook up with Tom so he didn’t. Eventually Tom stopped calling and leaving weepy messages.

Then, shortly before Christmas, when he least expected it, he ran into Tom.

He was at the same pre-Christmas party Jeremy had been invited to by the chief editor of an interior magazine, Rob.

Jeremy saw Tom immediately upon arrival but avoided him successfully for an hour—Rob’s villa was huge. Tom wore a pink shirt, grey tight pants. Some of his blond curls were pink too. When Jeremy looked, a girl was fondling his locks, and they giggled together. He seemed taller than Jeremy remembered him. When Tom walked around a bit, Jeremy saw, that he was wearing high heeled sandals with golden straps.

Jeremy turned around, eager to disappear in the crowd, but then he looked up and into the large art deco mirror leaning against the wall, and his and Tom’s eyes met. Tom stared silently at him, his eyes large and open. Jeremy who found the expression in them unsettling, stuffed his hands into his pockets, then left the room; a guy named Art or Artie stopped him on his way out—it seemed they knew each other from some other place, which Jeremy didn’t recall having ever been to, but he dutifully stood and listened to the old guy’s rambling. A young, tall guy with dark hair and heavy eyebrows waylaid him after that, casually inviting him to a line of coke. Jeremy took the line, sat a bit too long on the bathtub rim with the guy (who introduced himself as Lee) then left the bathroom again. Like always when he did coke, he felt the fatal greed rise in him, and he caught himself scanning the crowd for the sources to buy a bag or two. Luckily he remembered that he was too old to get fucked up, and instead moved towards the kitchen to get himself another drink.

Tom stood before him. 

Jeremy had to look up. Tom was like a very slender, pink pillar. His eyes were rimmed in black kohl. He looked absurd in his get up, that mass of blond curls on his head and that make-up. 

"Hi," Tom said, biting his lower lip, "remember me?"

He smiled a strange wavering, tearful smile, weepy and accusing at once, and Jeremy regretted instantly to not have left that party the moment he had seen Tom from afar. This was not going to end well.

"Hey," he said, forcing himself to smile. "Good to see you. How’s it going?"

Tom stared at him and shook his head, then walked away on his high-heels. 

Jeremy had no idea what made him stay, but somehow he found himself sitting on a kitchen bar stool, in a group of six people. One of them, a bar owner, was constantly mixing weird coloured shots, which they downed in ten minute intervals. He also served fat lines of coke—not great stuff, but coke was coke—and Jeremy just couldn’t say no. Every time someone passed that little mirror with a line on it and the rolled up 100$ bill to him, he took it and snorted it. 

Two people in that group were actors, and one was auditioning for a big movie in Hollywood. She had been some sort of child star, according to Rob and was set to become a big star. Silently Jeremy agreed—she had the right mix of pleasant features, big tits and quirky personality.

She was quite adept in regaling the group with anecdotes about her struggles in Hollywood, but her talent was that she sounded sincere without being depressing. Her flat and relatively deep voice served well for dry humor and sarcastic quips. She’d probably be cast in a lot of rom coms where she’d be the busty blonde with the big heart. 

"Heyhey, ScarJo," someone called out from the other room, "come here, check this out."

She pulled a face, "I fucking hate this name," she said, "what’s wrong with people? It’s like people are too lazy to remember names. Scarlett Johansson—that’s already too long for them, they have to shorten it."

"Well, Scarlett Johansson is a long name," he took another one of these vile shots, wiped his mouth, "I mean names in show business are kind of short, right?"

He had to narrow his eyes to look at her, and focus at her pointed, expertly sculpted nose, so he wouldn’t stare at her perfect breasts.

She looked at him.

"So who are you?" she asked, smiling brightly. 

"I’m Jeremy," he said. 

"So, Jeremy, what is it that _you're_ doing? Are you in the 'show business' too?"

Everyone in the group looked at him. Now he felt awkward.

"I’m in the real estate development business," he mumbled into his drink.

"Oh, that sounds thrilling." She bent closer to him, "but you know what? I have no fucking clue about the real estate development business which is why I won’t tell you shit about it. So why don’t you shut up because I don’t think you have a fucking clue about 'the show business', okay?" She made little air quotes before and after the word 'show business'. Someone behind Jeremy let out an awkward bark of laughter and he felt color creeping into his face.

"Sorry, … I didn’t mean to … offend you," he said. Someone put another shot into his hand, and though he felt way too drunk already, he skulled it.

"Yeah, don’t piss ScarJo off," said a voice behind them. 

"Fuck yourself, Downey," Scarlett said, but without any bite.

"Tried. Succeeded. I have a freakishly long cock. Did not leave my house until I turned twenty-five," Rob said, opening the fridge and rummaging around. He pulled out a vodka bottle, and a few chilled, gold-rimmed shot glasses, then went back to the living room. 

"Rob, no one wants to fuck you, no matter how often you tell us you’ve got a big cock, so leave it alone," Scarlett called after him.

Bored with the group in the kitchen and annoyed by ScarJo, Jeremy followed Rob. 

He saw Tom lying on a couch, his pink shirt partly unbuttoned. He seemed asleep. Obviously no one had thought of offering him coke.

Jeremy looked for somewhere to sit, but the other couch was taken by a group of guys who were all over each other. Anytime soon, and they’d start fucking and trading blow jobs. He must be getting really old, that he didn’t feel up to it, although that guy from before, Lee, who had offered him the line and who was also incidentally shirtless now, beckoned to him with a smirk and heavily lidded eyes.

A heavy arm chair was standing in the middle of the room, between these two large sofas, and Jeremy staggered towards it and sat down with a sigh.

Rob and a woman Jeremy didn’t know, sat down on the other sofa, where Tom was lying, talking to each other in low tones, fondling Tom. Rob draped Tom’s long legs over his lap, and the woman began caressing Tom’s curls.

Rob grinned like a shark, whispered something to Tom, who drooled onto the sofa, then pulled out a small bottle of Poppers, holding it under his nose. The woman who was cradling Tom’s head, began slowly undressing him.

Jeremy knew he should go home—he had no desire at all to watch the entire sordid scene but all the alcohol and too much coke had made him too groggy and lazy. Sometimes, when he had too many lines, he felt kind of catatonic. 

Maybe he should ask Lee for another line. That way he’d get a blow job too. Great idea, he decided, but could not bring himself to sit up and actually turn around. Instead he sank further into the comfy armchair opposite the sofa, staring into nothingness. 

He was, on some level aware, that Tom would be fucked thoroughly tonight. Tom didn’t really seem to care for it, what with being totally out of it, but then surely someone like Tom had had his share of involuntary fucks in his life, and one more or less wouldn’t matter at that stage. He was probably hired to do exactly that anyway—to fuck, get fucked, to suck and get sucked. Also, being Rob’s fuck toy had its advantages. Rob was one of these people "with connections". 

He looked at the ceiling and willed himself to get up and leave. Finally he managed to snap out of his stupor and straightened up a bit. From the other side of the room, Tom was looking at him with a strange look in his eyes.

So he was awake now. Rob and the woman were playing with his hair, with his nipples and Rob's hand seemed to have found its way into Tom's pants.

Jeremy saluted him, got up with a groan and slowly made his way to the door. 

When he was in the hallway, he heard some commotion of "Hey, where are you going?" and "Come back!" behind him. Then a moment later, Jeremy was shoved into the wall and turned around.

"What the—?" he started angrily, but then saw it was Tom.

"You fucking asshole," Tom said, his voice shaking. He was wobbling in his high heels. From up close Jeremy saw, that Tom’s make-up was runny.

He sagged against the wall, feeling overwhelmed. 

"What? What did I do?" he managed to ask.

" How can you just leave me with them? How can you be like that … just not give a fuck about anything? "

"You’re a grown up," Jeremy said tiredly. "You can take care of yourself. I’m not your nanny." 

Tom just stared at him.

"Look," Jeremy said. "We’re not dating or something. We just fucked a couple of times. ’S all."

God, he was so tired. When Tom didn’t say anything, he just gave a tired wave and turned away.

Again, he was gripped and slammed against the wall. This time he raised both hands to push Tom off, but then Tom’s lips were on him, and his hands were in his groin, massaging him expertly. Against his will Jeremy grew hard. 

"Just fucked, huh?" Tom mumbled against his lips. Looking into Tom’s painted, sultry eyes, Jeremy felt himself harden even more. "I’ll show you _just fucked,_."

Then he sank onto his knees, and opened Jeremy’s trousers. Someone whooped.

Jeremy looked up, considering to push Tom away, but then his cock was in Tom’s mouth and Tom licked it, pushed it deeper into his mouth, and he was incapable of any rational thought.

"Look at them going," a woman said—Jeremy recognized Scarlett’s voice. Rob, now drinking vodka straight from the bottle, cheered Tom on, "Yeah baby, suck it, you love sucking cock, don’t you?" 

Weakly Jeremy put his hand onto Tom’s head with the intention to push him off, zip up and leave but then Tom sucked harder, moaning, and Jeremy pulled him closer, began to fuck his mouth.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Lee leaning against the wall between the kitchen and the living room door, palming his cock through his jeans. He stared right back at Jeremy and licked his lips, grinning.

Jeremy grinned right back at him. 

Tom, as if he sensed Jeremy’s attention straying, opened his eyes and released his cock, then got up. He grabbed Jeremy shirt and yanked him close, rubbing himself obscenely against Jeremy which caused another round of cheers to erupt. 

Jeremy blinked, trying to see his audience, but it was too dark in the hallway–in the light of the kitchen he did see ScarJo, who grinned at him with raised eyebrows. When he showed her his middle finger she only gave him a thumb-up sign.

"Just so you know, should you guys want to fuck, feel free to do it right here," she called out, accompanied by some drunken "Whoohoo"s. 

"Why, thank you, Scarlett, so generous of you," Rob said drily. 

"Pleasure," ScarJo said.

Tom was obviously used to public sex. He raised his arms, conducted a pirouette, bowed, then undid his pants.

"Fuck yeah," someone said as he revealed pale round buttocks.

Rob and Scarlett clapped. 

Tom slapped and grabbed his own ass, smirking. He hauled Jeremy closer, then bent over the massive round mahogany table in the hallway, offering himself.

"Come on," he taunted Jeremy.

One of Rob’s friends called out "Hey" from the kitchen and threw something at Jeremy, which he caught.—It turned out to be a small bottle of expensive looking olive oil.

"Oh no," Rob protested, "that stuff is like liquid gold. Use the fucking canola oil!"

"Shut up, Downey," Scarlett said, "you should be ashamed you even have canola oil. That stuff is poison." 

Everyone, even Tom laughed. Jeremy poured the admittedly fancy looking and smelling olive oil onto Tom’s twitching hole, shoved two fingers into him, then immediately pushed his cock in.

Tom cried out, holding onto the table. 

"Fuck … oh fuck," he moaned.

"Yeah, that’s right," Jeremy grunted. "I’m gonna fuck you."

He took hold of Tom’s hips and began to set a brutal pace, and relished Tom’s shrieks and moans. 

"Best fucking show ever," someone murmured.

Tom’s hole wasn’t virgin-tight but every time he clenched around him, Jeremy felt like passing out. He held Tom’s head down, one hand on his neck, fingers buried in soft golden curls. Tom began to moan and sob, a telltale sign that Jeremy was hitting the right spot.

He closed his eyes, imagining Scarlett and Lee sucking him off together, fighting over his cock and his cum.

Finally Tom screamed out, and shuddered, then lay limp. Jeremy pulled out and jerked off over Tom ass, covered it with white spunk, let his cream drip onto Tom's open hole to the audience's viewing pleasure.

Breathing heavily he tucked his cock back, then had to steady himself on the table. Tom slowly opened his eyes and looked up at him.

Jeremy didn’t know why he did what he did next, but he bent down and kissed Tom tenderly. Tom smiled a small tired, smile. With a long sigh he straightened up and tucked himself back in. 

Scarlett and Rob patted him on the shoulder.

"What an adorable darling," Scarlett said, "isn’t he cute?"

"Yeah, that was pretty awesome," Rob agreed. 

Tom smiled coyly at Rob, his head on Jeremy’s shoulder.

"Wanna leave?" Jeremy asked, squeezing Tom’s waist. He felt mellow in his fucked-out, post-coital, still drunk, still slightly high mood, almost affectionate. He nuzzled Tom’s neck.

"I’ll just say goodbye to Rob," Tom said, and Rob took him by the arm, and together they went down a corridor opposite the kitchen, into a room which looked like a study. 

"Was 'saying goodbye' a euphemism?" Jeremy asked Scarlett who only shrugged and offered him a shot of vodka.

Jeremy downed it immediately. When he put the glass down onto the cum-stained mahogany table, he found Lee at his side.

"That was a fucking great show," he said in a low tone. His long hair was tickling Jeremy’s neck," are you a porn star or what?"

Jeremy laughed, patted Lee’s shoulder and did not resist, when the he leaned in and kissed him.

"Someone is popular here tonight," Scarlett mumbled, "and it’s not me."

"Mmmh," Lee only said, enthusiastically kissing Jeremy, kneading his ass and grinding himself against him. 

The door of the study opened and Tom came out again, shoving a wad of cash into the pockets of his pants. 

Then everything happened incredibly fast.

Before Jeremy could even blink, Lee let out a scream and was yanked away from him. The next thing Jeremy saw, was Tom slamming Lee's head against the wall, then wounding Lee’s long hair in his fist and pulling hard, with another hand gripping his throat.

Scarlett and the woman Rob had been talking to before, screamed. Another woman went in between, trying to separate Tom from the Lee, but Tom pushed her away.

"Don’t you _fucking_ touch him, you fucking slut," he yelled at Lee, whose face was contorted in pain.

He tried to get his hair out of Tom’s grip but without success.

"You’re the one who takes cock in front of everyone for a couple of dollars, so looks like _you’re_ the slut here," Lee managed to say nonetheless.

"I fucking kill you, if you come near him again," Tom screamed, beginning to choke him. 

"Holy shit! Stop!" Scarlett screamed, trying to pry Tom’s hands off Lee, who was turning purple.

Jeremy was completely frozen to the spot, in shock. He looked at Rob who was laughing hysterically at the scene.

"Catfight, woohoo!’ he crowed. "This party rocks!"

"Shut the fuck up and help me," Scarlett yelled at Rob but he just continued laughing. She shook her head, starting to grin herself a little.

Jeremy wondered if now was a good time to leave. If he was quiet, he could make it to the exit unnoticed. Carefully he inched towards the door.

"Hey, lover, where are you going? Take him home, will you?" Scarlett had managed to pry one hand off Lee's throat, who took deep gulps of air. Jeremy noticed that everyone was also just standing around, sipping their drinks, watching as if brawls between drunk and high rent-boys was a regularly occurring thing.

Sighing, Jeremy grabbed Tom’s arm and hauled him back. "That’s enough, baby," he said. "Let’s go."

Another guy, a friend of Scarlett’s, helped him to pry a kicking and screaming Tom off Lee, who sank to the ground. His nose was bleeding and Tom had torn a chunk of hair out of his head.

"Fucking psycho," he muttered. "What the hell is wrong with him?"

"There, there." Scarlett poured him a vodka.

Tom gradually calmed down, but still tried to break out of Jeremy’s grip to attack the guy.

"Hey, it’s alright," Jeremy said, although, pretty much nothing was alright, "let’s get out of here."

Tom nodded, wiping a tear from his face. Jeremy called a cab and then they sat around in the hallway waiting for the cab. He glared at Lee, who smirked lewdly at Jeremy and continued to taunt Tom, even when friends told him to shut up.

Finally Jeremy’s phone rang—the cab was here. 

"'Kay, drama queen, let’s go," he said to Tom. Rob handed him Toms jacket, and Jeremy draped it over his shoulder. Everyone hugged him and Tom. Rob hugged both of them.

"You two are great," he announced. "You are my new favorite friends."

He grabbed Tom at the shoulder, playfully, "Hey, no beating the shit out of my friends though!"

Everyone laughed. Scarlett waved them goodbye with her bottle of vodka, and they both stumbled out to the waiting cab.

"Where to?" the driver asked, bored.

Jeremy tried to focus, went through a number of motels in his head.

"Take me to your place," Tom asked in a small voice.

"I ... don’t know, man," Jeremy said hesitantly.

"I’m sorry I lost my mind before," Tom said, and raised his head to look at him, "but please take me home. It won’t happen again, I promise." In the darkness of the cab his khol rimmed eyes glittered like sapphires. His lips looked red and ripe. He was fucking beautiful. Jeremy remembered his mouth around his cock before, the eager sucking. 

"Please," said Tom, "the motels. They drive me insane."

Weirdly enough, out of nowhere Jeremy had a very strange thought.

_This is the least I can do for him._

"Alright," he said, then squeezed Tom’s hand.


End file.
